When Morning Comes
by Aurian Lladnek
Summary: Story starts as the movie Hannibal ends. What happened to Clarice and Hannibal after that night between them. Will Clarice get her job back? Does she even want it? Will she see Hannibal again and what will happen if she does? HannibalxClarice
1. Chapter 1

This storyline is set after the end scene of the movie Hannibal. Hannibal has escaped again. The bodies of the men in the pigpen have been found. One has been identified as Hannibal's old victim. The deaths have been placed on squarely on his shoulders as has the corpse found in Special Agent Starling's house.

Obviously I do not own any of the characters from Silence of the Lambs or Hannibal. I never said I did.

Chapter One:

Clarice sighed as she sat down for the first time in what must have been close to ten hours. After she had been found in the woods near the water outside her property, she had been cuffed, read her rights, and taken down to FBI headquarters to be interrogated. The effects of the morphine and the events of the night had come together to leave her nauseated and with a killer migraine. She laughed at that thought. A 'killer' migraine must have been what Krendler had had just prior to his death. They had had left her in a small holding cell for a time with nothing more than a small latrine and little else. There was no bed on which to sit or lie down but she had been to psyched up on drugs and adrenaline to have even contemplated sitting at the time. That was the last chance she had had that night.

About two hours after they slammed the bars shut on her, they returned. She had begun to contemplate whether Dr. Lecter had ever sat in this particular cell or one similar waiting to see what they had in store for him. But no, they wouldn't have put him in a regular cell like this. It wouldn't have been enough to keep Dr. Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter in. She felt some how more pathetic for not being able to go to the measures the good doctor had gone to to gain his freedom.

They dragged her into an interrogation room that she recognized easily although the last time she had been in it, she had been the interrogator not the interrogated. They started off, as she would have, speaking quietly as if talking to a child or simpleton, making sure to keep their voices calm and serene. When this didn't work the two officers, one a talk man in his late forties from the looks of it, with graying hair and a pork chop mustache that he chewed at when he was frustrated or thinking, and the other a younger man, dark hair with glasses and a large mole on the side of his neck. When he spoke he tended to gesture wildly as if telling a comical story. They began to play off each other in a routine of good cop bad cop so poorly rehearsed that it could have been a vaudeville act performed by two clowns, one with a tear on his face and the other with a spraying flower.

The one said they should throw her in a cell to rot until she was ready to talk, the other put a soothing hand on his shoulder and said that, you must remember this is Special Agent Starling, she wouldn't willfully hold back information on a known serial killer, now would you Clarice? He said her name as though he had known her for years not minutes and yet the way he said it made her skin crawl like unclean things now traveled down her spine. Still she was silent, she would give them basic information of course. Her name, identification number, age, and current address were really of no use to them and they knew it as well as she. When they would ask her questions specifically involving Dr. Lecter she would say that she had been sedated with morphine and remember very little of the past night's events which was true. When they asked her what had happened to her shoulder she looked on stone faced and told them she could only assume that it had something to do with the amount of morphine in her system, didn't they think?

At this, the younger man slammed his hands down onto the table making a terrible clang that resonated through the room. Damn it Agent Starling! Tell us what we need and we'll let you go! Don't you get that? Jesus Christ it's like she's in love with this psychopath!' He threw up his arms and turned towards the door as though to leave and then stopped as though a thought had just struck him.

'That's it isn't it? You filthy whore! You've been with that…that thing! That's why you won't say anything! Look at you! How could I not have seen it sooner? You have his mark all over you. Is that what that mark is? Do you let him have a little taste of you just before you do the deed? Tell me Claaaarice, do you like it? Do you cry out his name as he sinks his teeth into you?' By this time he had come to stand directly in front of her, using his body to try to herd her into the corner. He had a hand on her shoulder squeezing enough that had she still not been under the effects of the drugs she might have cried out. But no, she knew even then she wouldn't have. She would not let this low life scumbag know he had hurt her. Had caused her to show weakness. He leaned in closer. 'Maybe when this is all over I can _help_ you get over him. Just you and me. Maybe a little bondage?'

'Derricks, that's enough!' The door swung open and the man that had been her boss for the past ten years strowed in. 'New evidence has been found. There was a bullet next to Special Agent Starling's bed. There's a good chance her story is the truth. Hannibal may have shot her after finding her with the man who he feels was trying to help his old victim. Why he sewed her back up we may never know but the fact is, Agent Starling was in no condition to commit any of the murders and may not have even witnessed them.'

Derricks seemed unconvinced by this and his voice went from what he must have thought was a very intimidating growl to a petulant whine. 'But what about the bullets we found in the three men in the barn where we found Verger? They were obviously from Starling's gun.' He flicked his thumb over his shoulder indicating her where she stood silently, arms crossed.

'Don't be an idiot Jason,' so that was his first name. 'If he was able to get into her house and shoot her and slice up Krendler like that, I'm sure he's smart enough to take her gun.'

'What about prints? Have they checked it to see if he fired it?'

'Do you really think Lecter is stupid enough to leave a gun with his prints on it? The gun is missing; Lecter probably took it with him and disposed of it in a way that we'll never see it again. A general APB has been put out for it but no one should hold their breath. We'll replace it for you of course,' he said turning to face Clarice for the first time in the whole course of the conversation. 'All I need from you is for you to answer me this one question honestly. If you do it will mean full reinstatement and all the nasty charges that have been lurking will just go away. If you don't, well, if we find out it will mean the end of your job for starters.'

She paused a moment and then nodded, clearly indicating the seriousness of this decision. 'Yes sir?'

'Why was … at your house last night?'

'Sir, if I tell you the truth will you listen to me without bias this time?' Even as she said it she knew it did not matter one way or the other. She looked on at the man who she had thought to be a friend and colleague. A man she should have been able to trust and speak freely with. Now all she saw was a graying man with two close-set eyes that made him look pinched and tired. She saw a man who had at the first chance, dropped her by the wayside on the say so of a man he had known ten minutes. She knew now that these past few weeks had changed her. Where before she thought she had hardened herself through her work and the things she had seen she now felt jaded and knew that betrayal she had been met with in the short number of weeks passed would leave her soul crystallized like a diamond. Hard and cold.

The older man nodded silently and the other two continued to look on waiting for her answer.

'I was having a physical relationship with him.'

((Okay people you know the drill. Please read and review. I won't post the next part of the story unless I get at least four reviews. I don't need flames and yes I know the ending of this chapter sounds bad but it really isn't what it sounds like. Before I give too much away I guess you'll have to review to find out why Starling said what she said.))


	2. Chapter 2

I just wanted to thank those of you who reviewed chapter one for me. You're encouragement got me into the writing mood and got this chapter out quicker then I thought it would.

I do not own any of the characters from Silence of the Lambs or Hannibal.

Clarice sat for but a moment as she contemplated what had happened in the hours since Dr. Lecter had stir fried one of her co-worker's brains in front of her. She had been hauled in, treated like a common criminal, and finally following some gut instinct that told her that it no longer mattered what these paper pushing bureaucrats thought of her, she had lied to their faces and they had eaten it up with almost perverse languish. If they had known or cared to know anything about this petite red head they would know that she was as likely to sleep with Paul Krendler as she was to willingly cut off her own arm. She shivered as that misguided analogy made her think of her last moments with Dr. Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter.

The sight of the knife flashing in the glare from the florescent light. The smell of the blood and sight and feel as it splattered out over her arm and shirt. He had warned her it would hurt and yet she got the sense that in a way it hurt her more then him. He had cut off his own hand to get away from her. No, no that wasn't right she thought. It wasn't to get away from her, rather it was to maintain his freedom. If she knew nothing about this enigmatic man she knew that he would never again allow himself to be taken and caged. He would rather be dead then live in captivity and in a way she understood. It was the same way she felt when she saw a tiger in a zoo. It's power and grace were stifled by the bars keeping it in. Though it was dangerous in the wild, it was also free to do what it had been born for. She shook her head, now she was rationalizing the decisions of a madman. Not a mad man a voice from the back of her mind pointed out. A killer. Before this, before him, she would have made not distinction between the two but now she understood. A police officer killing a man who pulled shot a suspect was not a mad man he was doing his job. A wild animal killing to eat was no more evil then was a human who ate meat and yet humans did not like the idea that they might not be at the top of the food chain.

Slowly she became aware of two things. She was shaking, whether from exhaustion or from the rain she had been forced to walk in to get to her house. The yellow tape would remain for several days so she couldn't pull right up to the house. Their first thought had been to force her to stay at a hotel; her house still constituted a crime scene so the bureau had set her up at the cheapest dive they could find. She had taken one look at the ugly yellow painted Motel Six sign and had told the driver to turn around. They could reprimand her later. She was not sharing a bed with roaches. The revelation she made was that she was starving. Ravenous really. She realized as if an after thought, that she had not eaten in…well, the last time she remembered eating was the night before she had gotten the call that had led her to the mall and where Dr. Lecter had been, here her mind shied away but she knew she had eaten nor dunk anything in most likely forty-eight hours. There had of course been the coffee from the office but she did not count that thick bitter brew as a food.

Clarice almost laughed to herself at that thought. She was beginning to sound like the good doctor with her picky refined tastes. To offset that thought she went into the kitchen and found a box of half empty cereal, poured it into a bowl, checked the fridge for milk and upon finding it sadly missing, she went back to the couch and ate the cereal dry. A less appetizing meal she had not had since her college days. She fell asleep where she sat, her mind numb from the emotional roller coaster of the day. She did not wake up when the door opened silently nor did she make a sound when the edge of her shirt was pulled back and a cool, callused hand methodically checked the still raw edges around her wound. She merely moved slightly into the touch and then relaxed back as the hand stroked over the top of her silken hair.

The intruder made no effort to conceal his movement from the sleeping figure other then to walk carefully to keep his steps from making the old floors creak. He quietly removed the bowl that sad too close to the edge of the chair she was slumped over and then gathered the beautiful red head in his arms. Unconsciously she snuggled closer to the warmth of his body and he was careful not wake her as he ascended the stairs. He knew without having to switch on a light just where her room was and, with little effort laid her down on the bed and removed her shoes. Slowly he began unbuttoning her blood stained shirt. She must have put it on while the blood on her arms was still fresh enough to smear through the thin fabric. There was nothing for it, as he lifted her up slowly so as not to disturb her, he knew the shirt was unsalvageable. On top of that, if the idiots at he bureau had been stupid enough to let her keep the shirt then they had probably been stupid enough not to test it to see whose blood had stained the sleeves. The familiar scent of blood would usually have elevated his excitement but for now he worked meticulously to remove the blood stained garment. He would dispose of it soon enough.

After carefully removing all of her outer garments he lifted her one last time, pulled back the plain blue comforter and slid her limp body slowly between the sheets. Then he moved to the other side of the bed and sat down gently so as not to make the bed shift suddenly and rouse its occupant from her well deserved slumber. He watched her for a time, the slow intake of breath the quiet puff of air as she released it. In sleep she seemed so innocent, almost ethereal as though she did not belong to this realm of existence but yet he knew that when awake she was as ruthless in her pursuit for justice as he himself was in his own work. Carefully getting up he walked to the door to her room. With one final glance to the sleeping figure in the bed, he turned and disappeared into the night. Hannibal Lecter was on the loose again.

((This scene is made before the scene on the plane so please don't write to me saying that I cut the movie up. I will get to it. That is of course if I get more reviews. I need four this time to move on. The next chapter should be lots of fun so I hope to get these reviews soon. If you like it let me know. If there's something I should fix I want to hear about it. No flames please but I am more then willing to take criticism. See you all in the next installment.))


	3. Chapter 3

I want to thank everyone who has been sending such supportive comments and showing interest in this piece. I look forward to seeing them each time I check my e-mail. A special thanks to Adelaide for noting some glaring typos in the story. (I will be going back and fixing the chapters after I finish the story.) Also, in response to several people's concern about Clarice's house being a crime scene. This is not because of Krendler's death but because Hannibal had been in there earlier and left that picture of her on the magazine. I had meant to imply that the FBI was searching her house to make sure she was not conspiring with him and that was why her house had been set off limits. I guess I didn't make that clear enough and will be going back to rectify that later. Sorry for the confusion. ( ) )

I do not own any of the characters from Silence of the Lambs or Hannibal.

Chapter 3

It had been three days since Clarice had woken in her own bed with no memory of how she had gotten there but feeling somewhat uneasy when she found herself completely nude beneath the covers. More perturbing still was that her gun was not underneath her pillow, a fact which brought her starkly to the fact that she had not made her own way to her room but must have been brought there because even in an inebriated state, Clarice Starling was nothing if not meticulous about certain rituals and her gun being with in easy reaching distance of where ever she slept was one. Even as she had come to that realization she found she was not necessarily scared by the idea of an intruder in her house. She had cautiously taken her second gun out from it's hiding place inside a hollowed out book on her book case and made her way from room to room making sure that no one was there and that nothing had been taken or moved. Nothing had. She knew who had been in her house just as surely as she knew, intuitively somehow, that he was no longer there.

She had met with her boss yesterday for the final show down. He had informed her that with new information coming to light that she had been alleviated of all guilt both in the on going investigation as well as in that of the supposedly 'hidden' evidence that they had gotten. He told her that they had found neither her, nor Dr. Lecter's fingerprints on the post card, which would have been surprising considering that the good doctor had never attempted to hide his connection to such notes before and that if Clarice had truly had the postcard in her possession, it should have been riddled with her prints. Why, they reasoned, would she wear gloves to handle a postcard she planned never to let come to light.

On top of this evidence was the fact that both Mason Verger and Paul Krendler's prints had been found on the postcard and the writing style had been traced back to Verger's assistant, Dr. Cordell Doemling. He denied it of course and considering the horrific death of his patient, purportedly at the hands of Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter or more precisely at the hooves of the pigs he had had trained, it was supposed, to maim or even kill Dr. Lecter in some mad scheme the disfigure and now assumed crazed, man had concocted. The bodies of his assistants and the owners of the bovine creatures had been found near the body of their boss and in a similar state of grizzly dismemberment. The blame had been laid squarely at Lecter's feet.

She had thought that she would be glad to hear this news. Had waited for the call and had rushed to the office when she received it but somehow she felt hollow in side as though this had not been a victory at all. She had sat there in that office staring at a man that she should have been able to trust with her life and all she could remember were the words of a mad man as her told her what she could not bear to face herself. That the bureau did not want her. That in all the time she had spent there, all the long hours she had put in, the criminals she had put away, her word was of little more consequence then the men she helped to convict. When it had mattered most, when they could have had her back and shown their belief in her they had been strangely silent. No not silent, she thought silent, they had not been silent they had made it quite clear that her word wasn't good enough and that her every move from then on would be watched like that of a wild animal that might strike at any moment. They had not believed her about the postcard, about Krendler, or about Verger's insanity.

They had not even believed in her enough to let her pass on her knowledge to the next agent who had been set on the Lecter case. She knew that with her friend and mentor Jack Crawford dead, she was the only one with the intimate knowledge of Hannibal's patterns that would be needed to catch the doctor. Without that, this new agent, a rookie no less from what she had heard, he would have no chance of finding let alone catching the infamous serial killer.

It was to that end that she had closed her eyes for a moment, gathered her thoughts and then looked directly at her boss. 'So, I'm to be reinstated?' she asked resolutely.

'Yes, of course. I thought I had made that clear. And…well, I'm sorry for my lack of faith in you. I should have known you wouldn't withhold pertinent evidence to an active case. Please accept my apology. Is there anything I or the department can do to make it up to you?' He sounded sincere but she was beyond the point of forgiveness and besides, if the same events were to occur again she knew she would end up right back where she had started. Kicked off the force on paid leave and expected to sit on her hands until such time as they called her back like a kicked dog and allowed her the scraps they did not want. She would become a desk slave and in the end she knew she would go mad with it.

'Yes, there is something you could do for me sir,' she said, pausing as though choosing her next words.

'Anything. Just let me know and you'll have it.'

'I want to be put back on the Lecter case and I want Jackson taken off and reassigned to something else.'

'Now hold on Clarice, you're asking too much. You know people are going to feel a bit sensitive about you and the whole Lecter fiasco. No need to go stirring up bad feelings so soon after coming back to us. Why not take the Valentino case?'

'No. You asked me what I want and I told you. Either you put me on Dr. Lecter's case again and take Jackson off or you can consider this my two weeks notice.' There was a silence in which Clarice could only wonder her was more surprised by her ultimatum, herself or the director. She had not known until the words came spilling out of her mouth how serious she really was.

Eldridge looked stunned but quickly began to pull himself back together. 'Clarice, be reasonable. Where will you go if you leave the Bureau? Why do you want this case so badly anyways? It's not like it's the only high profile case out there. There are better ways to make a name for yourself. There's a good chance Lecter will never be caught and the agent set to that case will probably spend his whole life just tracking him and picking up the pieces afterwards.' His soothing voice grated on Clarice's nerves like nails down a chalkboard. He acted as though he were speaking to a belligerent child and it only worked to strengthen her resolve.

'It's your choice sir. I've told you where I stand and I don't feel that I have anything more to say. If you will excuse me?' She turned to go.

'Damn it Starling wait! What if you work with Jackson for a while, teach him the ropes? He could be your partner until you decide to move on.' He was wheedling now and they both knew it.

'Good bye Director.'

And that was how, now, one day later she was on a plane to Rome. Her passport had been upgraded so that she could move freely from country to country as need be. Eldridge had tried to change her mind and then had changed tactics and had begun stalling and dragging his feet about returning her badge and passport but when she had turned for a second time, reached for the door and actually had begun to leave the room, he had finally shown defeat. Jackson had been happily reassigned to the Valentino case along with his fiancé, another new FBI agent fresh from the academy and strong in their convictions that the mighty Bureau was the staunchest, most upright defender of America's rights and borders.

She sat back in third class even though the stipend she was getting paid each year for this assignment could easily have gotten her first class seats without so much as making a dent in the figures. She now had the money and the means she needed to begin her search for the good doctor. The only question now, was where to begin the search.

((I had a lot of fun with this chapter, especially with Clarice, finally finding herself facing that deep dark secret about her beloved job. The next chapter should be even more fun however, as Clarice begins her search for Dr. Lecter. Will she find him? And what will happen if she does? You know the drill. Six reviews this time to get the next chapter up quickly. If you see plot falls or typos please let me know. I really do appreciate them.))


	4. Chapter 4

Hey again everyone! I am so happy to see all the story alerts and reviews I've been getting. I tend to get bored with things easily but this story has been eating at me for the past week and I know I just have to update it. Thank you to everyone for your reviews and again a special thanks to Adelaide for pointing out some glaring typos. They will be fixed soon...ish. I'll stop talking now and get on with the story.

I do not own any of the characters from Hannibal or Silence of the Lambs.

Clarice set up home base in a small village outside of Rome. She took an already finished house that the owner was letting now that his mother had passed on and left him with all of her worldly possessions including the property but had also stipulated he could not sell it. The house was nothing much as far as most American's standards would go but she loved it just the same. It was a small squat two-story building but the attic was the true treasure. The window at its far end looked out upon the sprawl of the big city but it was not the best feature of the room. The door, an amazing contraption, once locked could not be opened from the outside, had a two way mirror so that the viewer on the inside could see who was coming up the stairs while they were still unaware of the audience they had. It was the perfect set up. She was close enough to the ancient city that she could be there within the space of an hour and still far enough away and out of sight that the bureau and anyone else that came looking for her would have a very difficult time finding her. She had no expectations that, should the good doctor put his mind to it, he wouldn't be able to find it but then there really was nowhere that would fit THAT description unless she went to live in a bog somewhere in Eurasia and even then she had doubts about her evasiveness.

And so she was not terribly surprised when a bare foot child in nothing but a pair of torn blue jeans and a red bandana over his wildly bouncing locks, came running up to her just as she was leaving for the morning a week after her arrival. The letter was unmistakable even as it sat in the hands of the tiny street urchin and she knew immediately who the sender was without even looking for the return address that she knew would not be there. The child, a crafty lad for all his lack of years, had tried to ply her with a pitiful story of his starving sister and his family dead but she had told him, as she was already sure of it, that she knew he had been paid well for this task and would not get another cent from her.

It occurred to her to ask the boy who had given him the letter and paid him so well that he had actually delivered it instead of tucking it away and walking off with the money but when she asked the child looked down at his feet with a sly smile crossing his face for a moment and then telling her that it was not polite to look a gift horse in the mouth and any further questions she put to him were met with similar responses.

She made a liar of herself a moment later when, as he was preparing to leave, his head down in a look of dejection, she pushed a few euros into his hand. The child's smile returned like a flash of lightning and then he quickly bowed himself out of the yard saying all the while that he would speak of her greatness and charity to all who would listen. _More likely tell them what a sucker I am for a pretty face_, she thought but thought better of it and turned around to re-enter the house she had just moments before vacated.

She went straight up to the attic where she had set up her lab equipment, her mind already whirring over possible ways to link this letter to its source. The child would have been of no use, of that she was sure. He knew who had paid him for his services but had probably been offered the chance at more, if he would keep his tongue between his teeth. It was also quite likely that Lecter had used a fake name and how, really, was a child to know that the kindly man who offered him money for such a trivial task, had in reality been a serial killer? He couldn't have and so she had not bothered to detain him further. The fact that the child had come at all, instead of the letter being delivered through the mail, made her think that her quarry was closer that it had at first appeared but she knew the Doctor well enough to know that he easily could have shipped it into the country and to a place that would fulfill his requirements to the T and could even have sent money along specifically for a runner such as the boy to bring it to her. Or, he could have given the letter to the boy days ago with instructions not to deliver it until today and could be well outside the country by now.

She turned on her surface light, pulled on surgical gloves, and sterilized her letter opener before even looking again at the letter but it was never out of her mind for a moment. She worked methodically where she wanted nothing more than to tear the letter open and pour over its contents. She slowly opened the envelope, checking the postmarks to see if there were any clues. The letter seemed to have been routed through a great many countries before its personal delivery but interestingly the address on it was for her house here. How then, had it gotten into the hands of the urchin if not through specific directive from its sender? She smiled, at this as she realized the questions she was asking herself were unhelpful and in the scheme of things, of little importance to her investigation. With that she made the last incision with her opener and pulled the creased paper free of its confinement.

The paper was similar to that of a previous letter she had received although this was not surprising to her as Doctor Lecter was nothing if not meticulous and thoughtful. She carefully unfolded the creases and began to read the first page.

Dear Clarice,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and that you are not terribly annoyed by the intrusion of a letter from such an old friend. I write in the understanding that congratulations are in order. I have heard, through the grapevine that you have been placed back on a very contentious and high profile case and I am left to wonder what you had to do to gain this position. Your soul is still in tact I hope? And your right arm, still firmly in its socket? It leads me further to wonder why you would wish to be placed on such a case at all although I am comforted by the thought that you do this so that you need not be so much the lackey of the system that has done you so little for all of the help you have done them. I am sure you will recall after out last meeting, that I feel your skills and talents are being wasted on your precious Bureau, for it will never return your esteem. No, far better for you to be out of sight and out from underfoot where they might use you worse then they already had. I can see you pouring over reports in your darkened basement as they let you ride a desk until all of your enthusiasm and spunk have been drained from you and you become little more then another one of their drones like the recently deceased Agent Krendler. No, it is for the best that you are out in the world doing what it is you do best: righting the wrongs of the world and passing judgment on all of the lesser mortals you come upon. I can only hope that this does not take up all of your energy and take away your chance to delight in the wonders you find around you. It is in that vein that I have taken the liberty to place a seat on reserve for you at the Theatre Rivaldi for a week hence. You will find the ticket enclosed. This is a black tie affair so dress appropriately for the occasion. You must let me know what you think of the performance as it is among my favorites though it remains to be seen whether or not the new male lead will live up to expectations.

On a more serious note, I am sure you have not yet heard that our dear friend Dr. Cordell is no longer among the living. He met with a rather unfortunate accident and his body was found tied across the bed of his ex-patient, Mason Verger with a very familiar facemask on him and his internal organs strangely missing. I am sure I speak for both of us when I say this must be a hard blow for the Bureau as they were unable to question him in time, about his part in the recent deaths on his employer's estate. We must not mourn for his loss however, for I can only imagine that he has now gotten his just rewards in the afterlife and that is something entirely out of our hands.

I hope this news does not too terribly darken your day and I hope that the thought of seeing a real operetta instead of the classless entertainment found in your dear America has brought a silver lining to the dark cloud I'm sure has been forming over your head as soon as you received this letter.

As always, your friend,

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

P.S. I f you have not already burned the dress and shoes I left for you after our last encounter, I suggest that you air them out as they would make a fine outfit for such an occasion. Also, please do not be too put out with me, should a package arrive for you soon.

-HL

At the bottom was a small but detailed picture of what looked to be an angel and a gargoyle looking out at her from the one folds of the paper. She stared for a minute or too more at the letter but was pulled away from her reverie by a sharp knock at the front door. Checking to make sure her gun was at the ready in it's hidden holster at the small of her back, she made her way downstairs and opened the door only to find a small brown parcel on her door step and no one in sight. She slowly picked up the parcel, glad that she had forgotten to remove her gloves in her haste to reach the door and returned to her house, relocking the door behind her. Her thoughts returned to the last lines of the letter and it was all she could do not to run up both flights of stairs and tear the package open like a child at Christmas. After thoroughly investigating the package and finding no evidence that could help her in anyway, she began meticulously removing the brown paper and found a white glossy box with a gold engraving on it's cover proclaiming Everett's. Opening this she found three smaller boxes, one larger than the other too.

She opened this first and found a beautiful hand worked shawl made with silver fibers and as thin as spider silk. She knew at once that this would match perfectly with the black dress, hidden in the back of her closet. In the next box she found a pair of emerald earrings, hanging like tear drops from silver hooks. They were beautiful and of course something she could never imagine buying for herself. The final box contained a set of flawless silver hair combs, wrought through with tiny ivy leaves set with flawless emeralds in the center of each. They would set off her red hair nicely and she knew that the sender had thought about this purchase in quite a lot of detail to make sure the effect would be stunning and irresistible to the recipient.

It was with great difficulty that she put her gift away and went back to the letter. She spent some time just studying the intricate loops and swirls that were so different from any other handwriting she had seen in her years of study and yet so patently Lecter. It was only after the third or fourth reading that it struck her that the picture at the bottom seemed vaguely familiar. She could not shake the eerie sensation that she had seen it somewhere and even when she left her workroom to go down to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner, it still ate at her.

And that was how the next dawn found her slouched over her desk staring doggedly at her computer screen, her fifth or was it her sixth, cup of coffee growing cold beside her. She knew she had seen the angel and gargoyle somewhere but had little more than that niggling feeling to go on. So it was almost astonishing to her dazed and bleary minded when she finally came upon a picture bearing the caption 'Saint Jerard's Cathedral Gets a Face Lift but Old Favorites Left in Tact'. The angel and its mate stared back at her from atop the ancient church and she remembered where she had seen them at last. She had walked by that exact spot where the photographer must have stood to get his intriguing picture, just days before on her way to the library not a block away. She had passed it many times and thought nothing of it until now. But now it meant something, now she had a clue as to where to begin her search. And that meant the hunt was on.

((Well, here is the next chapter in this saga that seems to be getting more and more indepth when I was actually planning on this being a two part story... well, I like it anways. If you like it or don't please still review. You all know the routine by now, the more reviews I get the faster I'll update. Please keep me wanting to write this because I'm already excited about the next chapter. See you all soon in the next chapter hopefully!)) 


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone, I'm feeling kind of down because I got a lot less reviews on that last chapter and I really felt like it was one of the better ones. I almost felt like just giving up on it but I decided maybe I just need to give you all more incentive to send reviews. So here I am writing again. So, here is part five of the story, we're getting near the end and this should be an exciting chapter.

Obviously I don't own Hannibal or Silence of the Lambs.

She had thought of every reason she could think of why she should NOT go. It could easily be a trap. Maybe he had grown tired of his red headed shadow and was finally going to do her in even with all his earlier claims to the contrary. It was completely unprofessional, the agent in her pointed out. If the Bureau found out she was accepting gifts from a known killer she would be off this case and out the door faster then it would take the ink to dry on her termination papers. And yet still, at Eight o'clock on the appointed evening, she found herself outside the Theatre Rivaldi wearing an outfit entirely of Lecter's choosing. Everything matched perfectly, right down to the tiny silver buckles on the shoes she had once found in the photo booth, in a time, which seemed years removed from the Clarice who stood here now in front of the ancient white walled building trying to build up her courage to enter. Gargoyles stared down at her with menacing faces that seemed to see right through her classy disguise and said, you are not one of ours for all that you try to dress the part. You are trash and you always will be, or perhaps she was just feeling that way due to the cut of the dress and the looks she was receiving from all corners. She felt out of place in this place of silks and fur coats, of glittering lights, and bubbling drinks with candy coated names and she who had grown up to follow in the shoes of her blue collar father had no place in this world of extravagant high class.

This was silly she told herself. She had faced serial killers like Buffalo Bill and drug dealers such as Evelda Drumgo without so much as flinching. She would not let a few, well maybe more then a few, blue blooded snobs and the chance of an ingenious killer eating her internal organs, from enjoying this evening. She squared her shoulders determinately and marched into the building before she could lose her nerve. She was greeted by one of the ushers who after discreetly checking her ticket, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his training must have been not unlike that of the guards outside Buckingham Palace she thought riley, and showed her to her seat which happened to be dead center in an empty box overlooking the stage and with possibly the best seat in the house. She felt uncomfortable in this tiny poorly lit alcove. For one thing her back was to the curtains, which she doubted would make enough sound, should someone put in an effort to get into the box quietly and on top of all this, she was in the perfect spot to be gaped at by everyone else in the theatre who must be wondering how this little upstart got such a good seat. It was not until the lights began to go down over the house that she thought to wonder why no one else had joined her here, surely the managers must have wanted to fill all of the seats for such a tightly packed show, but no one disturbed her.

At first her discomfort at the idea of being so exposed kept her from truly enjoying the Operetta that was unfolding before her but as she began to key into some of the more interesting characters she found herself engrossed and quickly forgot all about the crowd and her plan to keep a sharp ear out for even the slightest noise from behind her. It was not until intermission that she came back to herself and was more then a little disconcerted to find a single long stemmed rose and a note sitting beside her one of the plush guilt chairs.

For a moment her breath caught in her throat and it took several seconds before she thought to remind herself that breathing was a necessary function of living. With only slightly trembling fingers she picked up the little note but already she knew whose handwriting she would find inside. Carefully she unfolded it and began scanning the contents.

_My Dear Clarice,_

_I cannot say how glad it has made me to find that you took my offer to heart and have decided to come and enjoy an opera that holds no small place in my heart. I am sure by now that you are aware of the basic plot although I do wonder if you understand the details of it, understanding as I do that you do not know Greek as well as you appear to speak Italian. I must admit to my surprise and delight in finding you so well versed in so many different languages but I wonder if this was due to your pleasure in learning them or because of your sense of duty to the job. Either way, I have decided to put you out of your misery_- at this she clutched the paper tightly, crumpling it's delicate edges and spun around to make sure no one was in the box with her. Upon reassuring herself that she was well and truly alone, she turned her attention back to the paper in her hand. –_No Clarice, I am not out to 'get you' as I am sure you have already jumped to this preposterous conclusion. I meant only that I would key you in to the finer details of the story. It begins with a young woman of means who has become the object of affection for a man who is considered an outcast in her society. As much as she has been taught to hate and despise him, she finds in herself understanding and possibly loving said character. In the final scene you just saw, she has gone in search of him to tell him of her growing feelings but he has gone into hiding and will not be easy to find. I can only hope that this plot is as invigorating for you as it is for me and that you will let me know how you truly feel at the end of the performance. Until then I remain as always, _

_Respectfully Yours,_

_Hannibal Lecter, M.D._

She read over the note a couple more times and scanned the crowd for any signs of a familiar face but found none. What did he mean about that last part, surely he would not have the gall to show up in the box and begin discussing the finer details of the play! But all too soon the lights were falling again for the beginning of the second act. She had not meant to be pulled in again but by the time the curtain fell on the final scene, her eyes brimming with tears. The young woman had found her beloved just in time to see him shot down by her own brother who thought he had kidnapped her. The lights dimmed as the young woman wept over the lifeless body, understanding finally that their love was never meant to be for her world and his could never intermingle without such a calamity occurring.

She was not as distressed at finding a new note in the same spot the other had first appeared for her opinion of herself as an agent had been steadily depleting over the course of this night. She sighed, realizing she had once again become completely engrossed in the drama in front of her and had completely forgotten her intention to keep focused on finding Lecter. She picked up the note with a sense of resignation and opened it.

_My Dear Clarice,_

_I am happy to find you so enthralled in a storyline that I myself have found most invigorating. I am sure that even with no understanding of Greek you were able to determine the outcome of the two lovers fates. The young man was required to die for his love because he could never fit in with ideals and standards that her village imposed. It is ironic, is it not, that it is her brother that kills the love of her life because in a way it seems as though she was the one holding the dagger. Blood is thicker than water and in a way it appears to say that she would never have chosen him because her morals came before her feelings. It is an interesting concept is it not? _

_On a different note, I find myself tired of the pace of life here in the bustling city and am planning to foray away from the local colours. I think something colder might be a good change of scene, perhaps to see the change of leaves or perhaps to taste the apple brandy that is so common at this time of year from a fresh orchard. I can only wonder if my shadow will be as long where I am going now as it has been here in other places of late. _

_Your quiet friend,_

_Hannibal Lecter, M.D._

A picture came below his signature of what looked to be a young maiden in a stand of ash trees. She appeared to be reading a book with a basket of fruit beside her… no not fruit…apples! Clarice stuffed the note in with it's sibling inside her black clutch purse, bought just for the occasion, and began making her way determinately for the door. He had left her a clue here by which she could follow him. She needed to get to her computer as soon as possible and begin looking up apple orchards in the northern part of the continent that might be known for their foliage in the autumn. She knew she was playing into his hands but this was her only lead and in her heart of hearts she had to be honest with herself that she would follow even had it not been her allotted assignment.

Please people, I NEED reviews. I've been sick on and off for the past week and then when I wasn't sick I was working non-stop. It kind of has not been fun if you can imagine. So please people, REVIEW!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry all for the long wait. I had some issues after getting back onto campus schedule and am only just getting caught up. Hope everyone is still interested in hearing more of this little fic. Here goes nothing…

Chapter 4

It was on a lark that she had even found out someone was once again on her trail, well other then the good doctor who had become an almost comforting pattern in her life lately. It had been a handful of months since she had first accepted his unspoken offer to show her the sites and sounds he so loved. They had fallen into a pattern since then. He would disappear leaving some trace of himself in a letter, a package, or in one case a scale replica, lovingly created she later found by a retired architect who had once helped with the restoration of several of the wings of the Notre Dame Cathedral. How he had obtained it she was not sure she wished to know but she cherished it. After that, it was up to her to figure out the next location and follow, or not, as she saw fit. Within the first few days of her arrival in a new town she would receive a parcel, always brought by hand, usually by a street child who had been paid well enough to have the sense not to tell her where they came from and escape as soon as they made their delivery. The parcel would contain tickets along with a hand written invitation to attend an event that inevitably ended up being to alluring to her sense of adventure to pass up.

She told herself that she only attended these events in order to continue her pursuit of a known killer but in her heart she knew she enjoyed the music and colours, the flash and excitement as much as he did and she was becoming addicted to it in ways that bordered on obsession. Usually, but not always he would send a hand selected addition to her growing wardrobe. An amethyst coloured silk skirt with tiny needlepoint dragon flies flying across it's hem, a black silk blouse with tiny pearl buttons up the front and on the cuffs, one time it was a hair net spun out of gold flax and studded at the connections with tiny emeralds. She knew she should not accept them, should not wear them at the very least since she had no way to return them to their sender but she did as she went to each event he planned for her and so she had seen a Greek tragedy, listened to an awe inspiring rendition of The Seasons, and a soul stirring performance of Macbeth in a small town in France.

She wasn't even sure why she checked that site. She had set it up years before when she had first been tracking Lecter, right after his escape. She had thought to catch him checking in on her and be able to trace his ip address back to wherever he was hiding. She had known even then that it was a pathetic attempt to catch such a brilliant mind but still she had felt the need to at least make the attempt. She hadn't thought of it in…well, she wasn't sure how long it had been. So it was rather surprising to come to the site and find that multiple hits had been made at the site in the last month, all from the same place….the main office in Washington. Whoever had made the search had no idea of the tiny trace placed into the code that allowed her to find out who had been there and when. They had been so oblivious in fact that it made her wonder if it hadn't been a rookie checking it out. But what would a newbie have needed to check out information about her and why would they return on more than one occasion. It didn't take long for her to realize who it was. She checked a few other sites, ones pertaining to information on Lecter, his known information and the case itself. To others it would have been restricted information but she was a senior agent and had access to far higher files. Here too someone had been searching through the pitifully small amount of information known about the man who had been aptly dubbed Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter by the media. Again, the unknown researcher had made no attempt to hide their activity and she doubted now that they even knew how or that they should. There was only one rookie who would have any need to search out information on this unlikely pair and that man had been removed from the case months ago… or had he?

That had led to a call to the main office. She was steamed and couldn't quite hold the outrage from her voice as she tried in vain to politely ask what the hell agent Jackson was doing back on the case that they had _promised _her would be hers alone. Eldridge was none too happy to find his plan to add another agent under her nose had been blown and he took it out on her. 'Now see here Starling, you may have had us by the balls a few months ago,' at this she inwardly cringed, perhaps she had been tracking Lecter too long. This type of speech would be considered nothing by her colleague's standards but in the world she had been living lately, even a monster followed the strict dictates of societal stricture and evil often dressed and walked in the best of circles. 'That's not the case now. I felt that you needed assistance and I decided to reinstate Jackson to the case. If you have nothing to hide there should be a problem, should there Agent Starling?' He said her name like he had a bad taste in his mouth.

But she wasn't going to be bullied into acquiescing. He could throw his weight around all he wanted. It meant very little to her now, where once she had respected the bureau, would have given her life for it, she now held little more then contempt. They had left her out to dry when she had needed them most and now the only people she had ever cared for in her job were dead. Nothing held her to it any longer. Yes, she damn well had something to say about it.

'I do have something to say about it, with all do respect sir,' it took an effort of will to add in the last part. 'You are putting this boy's life on the line because you're mad that I forced your hand. You have no idea what Lecter will do to him if he decides he doesn't like Jackson for some reason and it's not like he's got the know how to be able to cover his tracks and avoid being detected.'

'Well, since the cannibal hasn't decided to take out his odd practices on you I think we can safely assume that Jackson should be just as safe. Unless you have some sort, oh I don't know, anti-cannibalism spray that you use that keeps madmen away from you that you'd like to share with us? No? Good, then I expect you to play nicely and get along with your peers. Good day Agent Starling, oh, and don't make too much trouble for us if you could. Wouldn't want another Krendler showing up attached to your name now would we?' He hung up without another word, effectively ending the argument before she could add anything else. She had the childish urge to hurl the phone across the room but restrained herself and placed the piece back in its cradle. She sat for a moment and thought what action would be best to make next.

All of her worst fears about Jackson's incompetence and greenness had been realized. He hadn't even had the foresight to think someone might be following him and it had taken her little effort to overwhelm is slight attempt to struggle when the gang grabbed him from behind. She had watched him be dragged into a back ally and when his struggling had reached its most futile, she had been forced to step in and physically make them let him go. In the end one of the gang members was dead and she herself had to be treated for multiple lacerations, a shallow cut across her forearm from a rather dirty looking pocketknife, and a possible concussion. He hadn't even turned to see who had attacked him and had been stunned and aghast to find that a woman nearly half his size had been able to take down the men who had so easily subdued him. He had become sheepish when she had laid into him about being so blind to danger. In retrospect she realized that he really was a good guy for all that he was a lousy agent. He had even offered to drive her home after she had gotten done rattling off his deficiencies and giving him her sternest don't let it happen again speech.

She had turned him down but had put it in his head to catch a flight to Brussels in the morning, something about a tip she had gotten that someone might have seen the Doctor there. There had been no such tip but with Jackson in Brussels, she could breath slightly more easily knowing his inexperience would not cost him his life. She had little fear that Lecter himself would be interested in the young man but there were others out there who would have no qualms about attacking a stupid American who might have money or something else they could use. She hoped he would give up this idea of being a national hero and go back to Little Ridge Arkansas where he originated and become the local sheriff. He would do well there and be the hero of the folks from all around the area. She would know.

No, she felt no animosity towards this young man with corn coloured hair and an irrepressible southern accent. It was Eldridge who was at fault, Eldridge who had set this young man up to constantly wear a target on his back. It was Eldridge who hadn't trusted her enough back then and who had proven their lack of faith in her now. How many people was he willing to kill because of his paranoia? How many young men like Jackson would have to meet with the cruel end far too soon because he thought to control the puppet strings? And what if Jackson had run into Lecter, however implausible that might seem? What would happen then? It was on his conscience. With that she began her research into the newest director of the FBI.

She was shocked by what she found. He wasn't just paranoid, he was a murderer. Maybe he hadn't pulled the trigger or inserted the blade but more people had died under him then the last three director combined during their full careers. He consistently sent rookies out on assignment they had no hope of closing whenever he felt a case was unlikely to be solved. On top of that, through a less public source she found out that two of his prior wives had died under mysterious circumstances. Interestingly, the same judge had served at both trials and the charges had not only been dismissed but also sealed. He had one daughter, 27 who had tried to file charges against him some years before for physical abuse against his newest wife and against herself but these charges too had been suppressed. It took little after that to find the judge who had resided over the trial. He had been a different judge from the two murder investigations but she felt, his answers would be more likely to be truthful as he had quit soon after the trial had been dropped. It took more effort to get him to speak to her. He lived out in the wilderness of northern Maine and had been hesitant to see her at all. It was clear from his expression when she arrived that he knew who she was. Her reputation had preceded her. With a sigh he had asked her to come in, had even offered her a cup of tea, which she had accepted. He had been reluctant to speak of the subject and had tried to change the subject more then once but when it became evident that she was not going to let the subject drop he had finally acquiesced to her answer her questions. It had come out haltingly at first and then in a great torrenting flood. He had known nothing of Eldridge before the trial other than that he was an up and coming FBI agent who tended to close more cases then others and that there had been some question awhile back about the death of one of his wives. It was only when the trial was about to come forward that he had actually even met Eldridge and that had been the end of it. Eldridge had shown up at his house one night not long before the trial was to begin. The judge had been worried about the propriety of having a man who was facing charges in his courtroom coming to visit him but it soon became clear that is was not a social call.

Eldridge had made it clear that if the judge did not dismiss the charges out of hand and have all evidence collected and sealed he would show a certain tape he had come into possession of, of the Judge placing bets with a well known bookie for several different horse races and a couple of fights. This would have ended his career, he told her, almost sobbing, or so he had thought at the time. After he had suppressed the charges he realized it already was. People were asking about his judgment and whether or not he was taking bribes on the sidelines to make certain verdicts happen and an investigator had been placed to look through earlier court proceedings. Rather then risk the chance of all of his rulings being overturned and allowing several well known killers back out on the streets he had stepped down. No one would hire him after that, he had nearly lost his license in the investigation and no law firm wanted their name associated with his. In the end, he had been forced into early retirement and that was how he had come to be here, alone, his wife had divorced him, his children wanted nothing to do with him, in northern Maine, whiling away his time helping with local environmental organizations.

Clarice felt sick as she heard the words flowing from the ex-judge's mouth. Not only was her boss a murderer of his own people, he was very likely a real murder and definitely a black mailer. She had driven back to the airport from which she had landed only a few hours earlier, still mauling over the conversation she had just had and the truth she now knew. Slowly a plan began to form in her head and a smile started to grow from the corners of her lips. Perhaps it was time that she plan an event for the good doctor. After all, he had been so kind up until now in providing the entertainment. Perhaps a quiet dinner would be nice, she could already imagine the main course…

Sorry to all of you who were hoping to get the big Hannibal and Clarice scene in this chapter but I think you'll enjoy the next one all the more for this one. I hope the last paragraph didn't give too much away but I wanted to leave everyone with a good cliffhanger. You know the drill. Please review. If I get enough reviews this time I really will make the best effort I can to get the next chapter up quickly. Let me know what you think whether it be good or bad.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own Hannibal or Silence of the Lambs or any of the characters there in. All other characters and plots are made solely by me.

She couldn't do it. She had thought it through, planned it, even set the events into motion but couldn't follow through. There was enough of her original training still there that kept her from crossing the final barrier. She had gone to the bureau's main offices intending to wait for her moment to get the director alone and then somehow get him back to Europe. She wasn't afraid of getting caught. She had been trained by the best and not just at the bureau she realized, somewhat startled. She had it all planned out, she would use chloroform on him. She knew in a battle of strength she could take him, he hadn't been on active duty in years where as she kept to a strenuous regiment and could hold her own even against someone who far outweighed her. It wasn't that, it was that she didn't want there to be a struggle at all. She had bought tickets under a name she had frequently used undercover and that would be untraceable to the commonplace agent. She would tell the flight personnel that her 'husband' got sick on planes and so had used some over the counter knockout medication to keep him out during the flight and that was what was making him so groggy. The chloroform would have worn off enough at that time that he would be conscious if not articulate and she would give him another dose after they had found their seats. She would soak one of her socks with the noxious stuff and then wear a couple of layers. If asked why, she would say she was from down south and they would find no weapon on inspection.

She was not afraid of any of this. She knew she could get away with it too but it was what would happen next. It was the actual act of taking this man's life, no matter how low he had become in her eyes. She had never killed anyone in cold blood. She had been forced to kill in the course of her job but that had been in situations of kill or be killed, while this would be nothing like that. It would be calculated and he would be helpless and she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It was too much like the unknowing lambs being brought to the slaughterhouse. She shivered at the analogy.

And so here she was, alone on her flight home. She had failed. The bureau would oust her in a matter of months. She had nothing to hold them to their promise anymore. Her threat to go to the press or leave had lost its bite and they knew it. They had planned this out as insidiously as any cheating spouse might plot to off their rich partner for the money. They had given in to her wishes knowing that she would look no further and she had even played into their hands better than expected. She had taken herself off on a case that they knew would never be solved and if Lecter didn't eat her they could always site her for inability to make headway. They would site her for shoddy work and would insinuate that she had been sliding in this direction for some time prior. Then the old rumors would surface and while they wouldn't put them on the official papers it would be the real reasons they were getting rid of her and they would know she knew. Those who abused their powers like Elridge would continue to blackmail, kill, and distort the truth as they had before. Of course, she had had the sense of mind to tape everything the judge had said with a hidden tape player in her jacket pocket but it would be as nothing for one such as Elridge to claim she had forged it and then get rid of the only one who could corroborate her proof. Or better yet, why kill him when he could just use a little more blackmail to get him to say she had forced the confession at gunpoint and that none of it was true.

She got home, what she felt was home now, the small house she had rented in Italy at the beginning of the whole fiasco and went immediately to the little bathroom and began running water into the oversized, claw footed bathtub. For good measure she poured some lavender scented oil into the water and then went to get a fresh towel and remove her travel stained clothes. On inspection of the phone she found that she had several messages. With a sigh she picked up the hand held receiver and pushed the message button and put the phone on speaker as she stepped into the tub. The water rose up lapping over her like fingers, massaging her weary body, like the embrace of a lover after bad news, like the comfort of an old ratty sweater that one could never quite give up. The first message was from her landlady letting her know that she had had a caller that morning, must have been Monday Clarice thought, and that the child had left her a box, which she had when ever Clarice might want to come to claim it.

The second message had been from Jackson. He was rather excited on having gotten some kind of insider information that led him to believe that Hannibal might be on his way to the United States and that he was on his way there. He would contact her when he had more information on the matter. She smiled without much humor but with some heartfelt thanks to whatever power had sent the young man back where he belonged and out of harm's way. She could not have planned it better herself. The third was call and hang up and the fourth was just starting when phone clicked out of its cycle and began to ring. Clarice sat up startled, water sluicing off her body as she reached instinctively for the phone and then hesitated. What if it was the director already? Perhaps the judge had already gone to him and confessed the truth. But her training would not allow her to ignore it and she picked up the handset. 'Hello?' she asked carefully into the speaker.

There was silence for a moment and then she realized, no not silence, there was music in the background, very faint but it was there. She knew it was something she should be able to name but she could not think what. The sense of déjà vu was so strong for a moment that it clouded her thoughts enough not to continue trying to get the person on the other end to respond. With a click the line went dead and she lost her chance. Then it hit her; the music was that from the opera she had attended on her first occasion here in Italy. She tried to trace the call without much hope of anything and when the operator told her the line she was trying to connect to was a dead location she gave up for the night. She was too tired for this nonsense she though and with that she took herself off to her bedroom, still wrapped in the pale green towel she had wrapped around herself as she had picked up the phone. She made it as far as her bed and that was that. She had just enough energy to turn off the light beside her bed and then she was asleep. She was so soundly asleep that she did not here the almost inaudible click of the door downstairs as it opened even though she had locked it tightly when she had gotten home. She did not hear the light tread on the stairs or feel the eyes upon her and the shadow that fell over her. She was aware that she suddenly felt warmer where she had begun to feel slightly chilled before and she curled deeper into the warmth. She was barely aware of something smoothing a stray strand of hair from her face and then lingering on the silken column of her throat. Since she did not react to these things it was not surprising that she did not here the steps lead into the bathroom, the metallic click of the tape recorder being picked up from where she had left it on the sink corner or the steps retreating downstairs. It was even less surprising that she did not hear the quiet sounds of the tape being replayed in the furthest corner of the house but the man sitting in the overstuffed armchair heard it and he listened with silent intensity. He heard the confession of the ex-judge from Maine, he heard Clarice's thoughts as she drove in the car and made her plans and he heard her repeat back her theory about the bureau's plans. His dear agent had always been meticulous about keeping detailed records and that would not have been expunged by the mere thought of banishment from her beloved job. She was not there to see the cold smirk that played across the features she had studied so carefully and with such detail. Her midnight wonderings in the realm of sleep afforded her no chance to watch the inner workings of the good Doctor as he planned his next action as deliberately as a chess player moving in a pattern unknown to the other dualist but sure to bring him the kill. He listened to her messages quietly and then, one by one, meticulously deleted them.

By the time Clarice awoke the next morning, late, which was not her usual custom, the house was once again vacant excepting for its soul patroness who knew not of its midnight watchings. She got up, stretched, feeling the pain of having slept too long in a position unaccustomed to her, and went to her bureau. She pulled out a set of ratty running clothes and quickly donned them, throwing the towel she found snarled up in her bed into the hamper near the door. She would have to get around to doing laundry sooner or later but could be dealt with at another time. She would have gone out the door none-the-wiser had not she chanced to notice the handset from her phone sitting on the downstairs coffee table next to her tape recorder. The one could have been mere coincidence but she remembered quite distinctly leaving the telephone upstairs in the bathroom. With a little thrill, whether of fear or excitement, she turned to survey the room wishing she had brought her gun with her but that was not her custom when she went out for a jog. Perhaps it should become so. She checked the rooms with little hope of finding anything and on returning dropped into the seat that had not so long ago held her quarry. She looked at the phone, noting that her messages had been deleted and then went back to the tape recorder. On a whim she turned it on, expecting to hear her own voice played back to her and she nearly overturned the chair when, nothing like hers, a deeper more masculine voice came through the tiny speaker. She scrabbled to turn the sound up.

…lo Clarice. Surprised to hear from me? No, I choose to believe you have more common sense then to believe yourself safe even in a house so thoroughly fortified as the one you currently reside in. A lovely house, my dear, and it seems you have actually begun to make it a home, not your usual habit of living out of boxes and keeping only the necessities of food stocked so that you can leave at a moment's notice. You are so careful not to let yourself be tied down by any one place or situation. Is it that you are still running Clarice? That you fear permanency would make you weak? And what makes this place different? Is it that you are finally feeling your age and nesting instincts have set in? I should hope not for that would lead to the untenable question of who or what had made you decide to set yourself up for a fall such as this. I hope it was not this poor little Agent Johnson I've been hearing so much about of late. I have decided to believe otherwise…but onto other more pressing matters. I see you have gotten yourself into quite the situation. You see the trap closing around you and you are unwilling to destroy those who would destroy you even if it would keep you safe. Is it that somewhere deep inside your innermost subconscious you fear what your actions will mean for the reputations of your parents? Do you see there ghosts hovering over you at all times watching you for that one little slip up that will leave them…and you in shame forever? I see what a predicament would mean to you if this is the case so I believe I will be required to make a few changes to my current plans. Somewhat trying but considerations must be made. Until we meet next Clarice…tata.

Clarice sat for a moment in silence trying to assimilate all the information. What had he meant about her making a home here. Of course she had been forced to unpack, she planned to liver here as a base of operations for a time. Of course, she had bought a few plants to sit in the window of her bedroom, but that was to screen her from observation as she watched the main street. And she had to admit she had bought a few things to make the bathroom more livable but that was because it had been in complete shambles when she moved in. She had been at the matter for a few moments before she realized what a long list of things she had created and that most of her excuses were becoming less and less reasonable. She really had begun to make this a place that she could live for some time to come…a home, she realized with a jolt. Lecter had hit it dead on.

But what was she doing thinking about that now? What had the last part meant? Was he going to go after Jackson? Did he feel that Jackson was getting in the way of his plans? But why should she feel ashamed of that? She felt as if the answer were at the tip of her tongue, that if she could just get the last of the sleep out of her head she would understand what the underlying threat or promise had been in those last few lines. Finally, she gave up, deciding she would go on the run she had promised herself and hope it would help her find the answer.

It took her ten minutes into her jog. It hit her like a pile of bricks and she actually staggered and lost her easy pace for a moment. As soon as it came to her she was turned around and heading for home at break neck speed. She had been so stupid. He had heard the confession! His message was probably even on the other side of that tape. It took her mere seconds to realize what his target was, or rather who but as she drew near to her home, funny how she had begun to think of it that way in the back of her mind, before Lecter had even pointed it out to her, she slowed and came to a halt. He had put her in her in a situation not unlike the one she was already in. She could not very well call the bureau's main office and tell them that _the_ Hannibal Lecter was on his way there to dispatch her boss. They would ask her how she knew that and there was no way of explaining it without turning herself in and she couldn't do that because she was possibly the only one who knew enough about the inner workings of the good doctor to be able to catch him before his next meal.

Snorting as herself for her own inner conflict, she reached the steps of her home and went directly to the phone. Dialing the phone, she rehearsed what she would say mentally as she waited for someone to pick up. When someone came onto the other end, a young woman from the sound of it, inexperienced and excited by the prestige of working for the FBI, she asked calmly for an extension to Director Elridge and gave her information. It would not seem odd, even if someone looked back later that she was calling her boss. She did this a few times a month, to check in and let him know when status reports were being faxed over. She was informed that the Director had not come in that morning but that he would most likely be in the next morning. The receptionist informed her, in confidence of course, that she had rerouted a young woman who had been trying to get through to the director to 'invite him to dinner.' She giggled as if she was in on a secret joke. Starling turned cold as she heard that last. She quickly begged off any further conversation and hung up. What now? She couldn't call Jackson, that would put him in harm's way but yet she could not get a flight to the U.S. until tomorrow on such short notice.

She was working on what her plan of action would be when the phone rang…

Okay, everyone, I know you're all probably on the verge of killing me for not posting in so long but I swear I'm actually working on the next chapter already and it will be a good one. I also apologize that this wasn't THE chapter. I was planning on going a different way with this story and the set up from prior chapters meant that I had to add this one to get on track again. I promise if you stick with me and keep rating I will get a good chapter up soon. Please don't dump me and if I don't post the next chapter by Sunday…you can all come and yell at me for being a terrible liar.


	8. Chapter 8

((So here it is folks. The final real chapter. I can't even tell you how much fun this has been to write. I didn't expect it to take on the size and shape that it did. When I began writing this I figured it would end up being about a chapter long but here I am on the eighth chapter and I hope you all will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to send a special thanks out to Laura Adelaide who has helped review my work and fix corrections. I plan to go back now and edit this so that some of the spelling errors disappear.))

'Hello Clarice. I trust you are doing well?'

'What have you done with him Doctor?'

'Ah, I see you've gotten up to speed already. That's my girl. I'm afraid Director Elridge is indisposed at the moment but I'll let him know you called. I'm sure he'll be sorry he missed you. Now, onto a more pressing matters.'

'Where is he?'

'Now, now Clarice. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to interrupt? No, I suppose she wouldn't have considering what a short amount of time she spent influencing your life. Oh well, I still expect you to have manners my dear. If you prefer not to speak right now I can always keep my news to myself. No? Well then, I will be returning home in a short amount of time and though I really haven't been away all that long I have decided to throw a little…welcome home party for myself and a guest who has been traveling with me for awhile.'

'When and where?'

'Ah, yes, I tell you where to go and when and you'll bring the whole of the Italian police force is that it? Not quite the house-warming gift I would have hoped for. No, I believe we will keep this a smaller, more, intimate occasion shall we? I think I'm going to have to be a bad host and leave it until the last minute to let you know the details. You know how these things are, you never know how much food to make or what time the guests will arrive, fashionably late or fifteen minutes early and it just puts a fray on my poor nerves. How about this, I'll send someone over to get you when it's time and if you follow my…requests, you'll be brought straight here. How does that sound my dear?'

'Am I really being given a choice in the matter?'

'Now that's no way to sound Agent Starling when I've gone to all this trouble to invite you. And besides, you always have a choice. For instance you can always choose not to come. Oh, on a different note, the green silk dress and the matching earrings, I'll want you to wear them…and the shoes from the photo booth. Of course, if you don't feel up to it we can always canc…'

'I'll be ready. Is there anything else on your list of demands?'

'I'd hardly call them demands my dear. I'm merely trying to set the right atmosphere so my guest sees you at your best. We really wouldn't want you coming in something you had chosen yourself or you might show up on my doorstep in a running outfit and scuffed shoes or worse yet jeans and a bullet proof vest and then where would we be? No, I think you're just going to have to admit my higher taste on the subject. Speaking of taste, there will be a light dinner served so don't fill up on those cardboard wafers you call food. Now, I really do have to run my dear. I have a plane to catch and a meal to plan. Tah.'

'Wait, Doctor Lect…' click

Clarice sighed. There had to be a way around this but she couldn't think of one and it scared her. She was always in control of herself. Even when it had come to the confrontation of a crazed gun toting drug dealer with a baby strapped to her chest, she had known instinctively what to do and had worked mostly from her gut. She had known she had to wash off the baby, she had known where to shoot to avoid it in the first place and in the end, though she was saddened for the poor child that would grow up with mental scars older than it's first recognizable memories, she knew she had done the right thing and felt no guilt over it.

Now, she found herself in a classic catch twenty-two situation where she was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. If she did somehow find a way to inform the FBI under the good doctor's watchful eye, then many would die trying to rescue a man that had sent so many to an early grave and there was no guarantee that he would make it out of alive even then. In fact she could already imagine Lecter taking his displeasure out on the haughty director if things went awry. Of course it she did nothing and just went along with his plan then she would be a willing accessory to murder and while the bureau might very well never find out, very likely wouldn't knowing Lecter, she would know.

She would have to think on this.

Two days went by with no word from the good doctor but she hadn't expected one. As the day that she had decided, not rationally of course but from gut instinct, would be the one he'd send someone to call on her, she became more and more agitated. She found that where she had always been a heavy sleeper, the smallest things had begun to wake her in the middle of the night. Her nerves were becoming more and more frayed. She had tried running to burn off some of the tension but could not get over the feeling of being watched and so had finally turned around early and gone back to her house and locked the door. Of course if it was Lecter who was watching her, that would do little to hinder him but she had a feeling there was no one actually watching her and that it was more her imagination going into double time. She worked on coming up with a plan and canvassed neighborhoods she felt might be likely for the him to have taken up residence but with no way of knowing if he was even in the same town, she knew she was pulling at loose strings.

The night of the decided date for the occasion, Clarice took a long shower, which was not her custom. She tended to be very perfunctory about her ablutions and didn't like to think of herself as a girl who primped in front of the mirror. When she got out of the shower she wrapped an oversized black towel around herself and began brushing her hair out carefully. Finally, she left the bathroom to walk the short distance to her bedroom. The gown, he had picked out for her on an earlier occasion was already laid out on the bed with the earrings beside it and the shoes on the floor underneath. She knew there was no logical reasoning behind deciding that tonight was 'the' night but she could feel it down in her bones.

When the knock came at the door at 7:00 she was ready for it but that didn't stop her nerves from jumping at the sudden noise. She opened the door and found the little street urchin who had given her her first letter upon her arrival in Italy. He was dressed better this time, his face washed and a clean white shirt made him almost unrecognizable from the ruffian with the cheeky attitude she had met what felt like years but was truly only months before. 'I'm to check that yer wearin' the green 'un and earrings and to tell you that a gun strap can be as ugly as a Hawaiian shirt on a fat man if worn at the wrong occasion.'

Clarice laughed despite herself. She couldn't help it; the boy might have changed his outer appearance but there was no changing the devilish little up-quirk of the lips or the tell tale look in his eyes that said he was wondering if he could 'borrow' the bracelet on her wrist without her noticing. 'As you can see I am wearing 'the green 'un' and I would not be so vulgar as to show off such a line. Now, if you want to lead the way…'

'Right this way my lady,' he said sweeping what he must have thought was a very courtly bow and nearly knocked himself and her over in the process. She turned, grabbed her matching clutch purse (she was secretly proud that she had found something in her price range that matched the elegant outfit her host had crafted for her, which meant at least one piece would be of her choosing) and locked the front door. He took her a short way to a waiting unmarked grey car whose driver didn't even look back as they got in. He started up the car immediately and began driving. She tried in vain at first to keep up with the direction they were going, hoping she could find her way back if need be but the driver, or more likely her host, appeared to have already thought of this and finally she gave up as she realized they had turned completely the other direction again and she had lost all sense of where she was. They drove for about forty-five minutes before coming to a halt in front of a large stone manor house. Before getting out she reached into her purse and pulled out a few coins. She tried to give two to the driver who looked at her passively and refused to take them from her open hand. Her partner felt no such qualms and took all three coins from her hand without so much as a thanks and hopped out of the car. He brought her to front door and then stepped back and merged into the shadows. 'Coward'. She whispered out loud and then turned around as the door opened.

Lecter stood in the doorway in a rather expensive looking suit but it was not his clothing that made her treacherous heart skip a beat on the sight of him. As he took in his first glimpse of her he smiled, a smile that would have quelled a weaker heart but she didn't see it that way and it startled her to come to that realization. He must have seen her change in expression because his smile grew to a rather devious looking grin. Moving to one side he asked, 'Do you enter my home of your own free will?'

'I would ask if I have a choice in the matter, Doctor but I have a feeling that you would close the door in my face after an explanation of free will and how I can choose to walk away whenever I want.'

He only looked on and finally she sighed, 'yes, I am entering of my own free will, are you happy? Can I come in now or do I have to take an IQ test to make sure I don't lower the intelligence level as well as the class level?'

'That was beneath you Clarice. Why give them the benefit of insulting yourself? If you're going to be this way you might as well leave. I do not wish to have unpleasant table conversation tonight after all the work I've put in to get this ready.' She glared at him for a moment but finally relented. Seemingly sensing the fight go out of her he led her down a darkened hallway filled with artwork that looked like it could have dated back into centuries long forgotten, and into a candle lit dining room. After seating her at one end of the rather ponderous looking table, he poured her a glass of white wine and after returning the bottle to it's ice bath he returned to her. 'If you will excuse me I must retrieve the first course from the kitchen.'

He returned a moment later with a set of plates on a silver tray holder and brought it around to her. He lifted the cover off and she nearly gasped. It was not bloody remains or even sautéed brains as she had half expected but was instead a tossed salad set in a delicate china bowl worked through with silver rosettes along it's side. On top of the salad were turnip flowers, grated Parmesan, and thin slices of tomato. She looked up in time to see the good doctor valiantly trying to hide a smile. 'Um, oh! Where is the guest you said would be joining us tonight Dr. Lecter?' Clarice asked as innocently as she could as she carefully checked beneath the bed of lettuce to make sure there wasn't something hiding beneath it. He quirked an eyebrow at her when she caught his eye again. She blushed realizing he had noticed what she was trying to do.

'My guest was feeling rather under the weather and pled off but he wanted us to have a pleasant meal anyways.' They ate in silence for a short time. Clarice was not surprised to find that the salad was excellent. Lecter was nothing if not meticulous when it came down to the smallest detail. It was one of the things that had gained her admiration and awe when she had been talking to him in the prison so many years ago. The beautiful pictures done from memory were still vivid in her mind even after all this time. She smiled unknowingly at the thought. 'What is it my dear?' Lecter interrupted her thoughts bringing her back to the present with a jolt. She shook herself mentally reminding herself that the monster across from her was responsible for countless deaths. Some how even in her thoughts it lacked a certain conviction. 'I'm sorry?'

'You smiled a moment ago. What was it? I can only assume that it was not due to the meal as I know you are here under tough circumstances and most of our talks about your past would do little to evoke such a positive emotion.'

'Actually it was a more recent memory. One in which you played a large part.'

'Oh do, tell me my dear. What have I so unwittingly done that brought you a small piece of joy? I would imagine most things I've done would bring forth quite different emotions on your part and with our past.'

'You might be surprise sir. Anyways, I was just thinking of the first time in the prison when I came in and you had all of those beautiful pencil drawings that you told me were from your memory. I remember being stunned to think that something like that could come out of near thin air. It made me smile because many things you do are like that.'

'Like what my dear?'

'Careful, meticulous, perfect.'

'You do me too great an honor Clarice. I am nothing if not a creature of habit. I do what I must to make a living if a living must be made and I do what inspires me or brings me pleasure when I may. I keep my little sphere of life clean. Little more can be said for me I'm afraid.'

'You do yourself a disservice doctor. Your knowledge on the archaic is extensive. Your drawings, which I do hope you have stuck to are testaments to the achievements of the mind and artistic ability. And though I would be contradicted or scoffed at by many, I have come to find that you do have a heart though you do everything you can to protect it from harm or penetration.' She seemed completely unaware that she was acting the guardian angel of a man who most of the world would label a monster unfit to live. She spoke from the heart now as though the analytical part of her mind had shut down but in the silence that followed she turned a bright pink and lowered her face as though the truth of what she had said had come flying back in her face.

'You needn't be embarrassed my dear. There is beauty in even the most disturbing of acts and bizarre of creatures. Just think about the paintings of the crucifixion or the walls of the Aztecs that depict the religious sacrifices. It does not make you a bad person. Now on to more pleasant topics. I simply refuse to allow you to dwell on something like this during our dinner. I know, let's go through how you plan to capture me.'

'Um, wouldn't that defeat the purpose?'

'Well, as you haven't been able to before and since I was able to help you capture your infamous Jame Gumm I think I could be of some help to you. Now, let's start with a profile of the subject shall we? No, wait, I have to bring out the next course. You be thinking about it while I'm gone please.' With that he stood up, picked up her bowl and whisked it off to what she could only assume was the kitchen. She couldn't decide if she had time to poke around before he came back but the decision was made for her when he returned a moment later with two steaming bowls of soup. 'Well, I must confess I'm surprised and pleased to find you still in your assigned seat Special Agent Starling. I almost worried that you might try to make a run for it while I had my back turned, but no, that isn't your way. You don't slink off in general, not your style. More likely to find something blunt to bash me with.' He set the soup down before her and returned to his own seat. She eyed the soup while trying to pretend she wasn't and careful brought a spoonful up to eye level under the pretense of blowing on it. 'It's an herbal broth with an assortment of vegetables in it. Now, where were we? Oh yes. Profiling your killer.'

'I really don't feel comfortable with this doctor. Could we talk about something else?' She asked him pleadingly.

'Now, please don't be rude my dear. After all, I've gone to all the difficulty to make this meal for you. The least you can do is humor your host.' They sat in silence for a moment. When she began to speak it was hesitant at first, choosing her words with care.

'Well, you…'

'The subject, Agent Starling. The subject, let us go over him physically, then psychologically, and finish with his history shall we?'

'Um…yo…the subject is in his mid-fifties, six foot three, ice blue eyes. Graying hair, toned body. It is likely that the subject works out or finds someway to maintain his fitness. He tends to dress in away that shows a strict attention to fashion for the classics but is able to blend in well when he needs to. He appears to be quite agile, which would be a benefit to him considering his propensity towards violence.'

'The subject was once a well known psychiatrist that worked with individuals in need of mental repair sent to him by the state. Little is known about his past other than that he was an orphan although there are some who maintain the belief that he had a younger sister although no details are known that could corroborate this opinion. It is believed that he began showing tendencies toward psychosis and cannibalism at an early age but his earliest documented kills were during his time as a practicing doctor of psychiatry. The doctor began to play god in his later years by deciding which patients should live and who should die even going so far as to get some of the clients to do the work for him. Such people included one Mason Verger who later came after him do to his imbalanced mental state and the fact that the doctor had 'helped' him to carve his own face off leaving him disfigured and on permanent life support. Other victims simply disappeared. Many of the deaths placed at Dr. Lecter's feet cannot be backed by evidence and bodies have a way of not turning up for years as in the case of the man found in a storage unit years after the subject had already been incarcerated. During his stint in prison he helped with several cases supposedly for self-benefit but mostly it is believed he enjoyed the challenge and the ability to prove his elevated mental status above society. Upon a transfer after help with one of these cases he escaped, killing two prison guards, hanging one up like some sort of macabre angel and cutting the face off the other to use to make it out of the building. Upon making good his escape he went after the man who had turned him in and then disappeared for a time. He was only flushed out when Verger put a bounty on his head and at that point the good doctor killed an Italian detective and two hired hands. He then returned to the states where upon contacting…one Agent Starling he was caught by Verger who planned to have him mauled by pigs. This plan was thrown off by the arrival of said Agent Starling who shot two of the three hired gunmen before being shot herself. After that the other man and Mason Verger died. Both deaths are attributed to Lecter but it doesn't match his M.O. Agent Starling was found two days later in the house of another agent who was later found dead. There were trace amounts of morphine in her system as well as signs of recent surgery done from what can only be assumed as a bullet hole. She was very nearly relieved of duty until certain matters about the other agent and about Mason Verger came to light. Agent Starling was unable to give an explanation of how she came to be at the house or why Lecter would fix her up rather than leave her for dead. The doctor disappeared and has not been heard from until now.'

'Good, good, you sound just like they teach you in those ridiculous classes. You've looked at every detail except the important ones and detailed everything that didn't matter. Bravo my dear. Now tell me. What do you plan to do? Are you bugged? Are we being taped even as we speak? No? I suppose not, not really your style. You'd know that I'd have the house watched incase you brought anyone and you haven't had time to call anyone so I can only assume that you are truly alone. This leaves you in the precarious position of being alone in a house with a madman, or so you've labeled me and you are left to incapacitate me in some way, find your boss, and escape without my being able to stop you. I suppose you are in a better situation now than the last time we dined together because you were still under the influence of the drugs but I somehow think that I can handle you hand to hand so what is it to be Special Agent Starling? A brass candleholder to the back of the head? Though from what I can see, I must assume not but it is possible that you've managed to hide a gun in that dress you've painted on to yourself.'

'May I remind you that you picked out and purchased this dress for me doctor? And no, I don't have a gun. I'm told it's tacky.'

'Very good my dear. Well, I suppose that leaves you with a decision to make and I think I'm going to have to ask you to make it sooner than later. In fact I believe we are ready for our next course and so I will put it to you now. I have made two different third courses. The first is something that I consider rather bland and middle of the road. On the other hand it is safe and would need nothing from you as far as change or adventure. The second is somewhat different. I promise you it will be unique to anything you've ever eaten before but in choosing it you must decide that it is something you want because once you have consumed it there is of course no turning back. You cannot undo something once you have already eaten it no matter how much you may wish to. So there you have it my dear. I leave the choice to you.' With that Hannibal sat back and folded his hands in his lap and looked on at her impassively.

Clarice sat at her end of the table unable to bring together a coherent thought. This meal had led her all over the map and yet she had not until now realized how over her head she was. She now knew that she had been truly enjoying herself and some part of her scream that this was not how it should be. She should not have thought of the drawings or had a little bubble of happiness when he opened the door, should she? She was an agent but what did that mean anymore. They had used, and then let her out to pasture and she had let them. They had sent a child out to take her place knowing full well the dangers he would face and her own boss had done far worse. He was a black mailer and a murderer masquerading as a hero to the people and yet she sat across from a man that most would consider a monster who had opened her eyes to corruption and lies. This man had helped bring down several deranged killers and more than once had saved her life. He had brought joy and excitement into a life that hadn't been being lived but rather had been a plaque in honor of parents whose deaths she had not been able to accept until he had come along. Yet she was a strong woman. She had made it through the academy on her own strengths and it had been she who had brought the good doctor out into helping them with that case so long ago and in a way she felt that she had done something for him as well. She looked up startled realizing that several moments had gone by in utter silence and realized that Hannibal had not moved since he had laid out her choices. She looked into his eyes which were clear and gave away no sense of what he was thinking and knew that the choice had already been made long ago. She lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the face and announced. 'I think I'm going to try to be a little adventurous for a change.'

A smile broke over his face and she knew then that though he had seemed completely impassive that he had been waiting and hoping that her choice would be the one that he offered. He stood up abruptly and picked up her bowl. 'Very well my dear, I will be back in a moment.'

Clarice sat in a silence that seemed to be almost completely drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat. She listened to it for a moment and felt panic beginning to rise and then she looked within herself and carefully searched for where it came from and by the time she was done dissecting the sticky mass of panic and fears she found only a tiny voice that worried and fretted what her family would think of her if she was not an agent anymore. This was squelched as she realized that she could do more of a service to the world out here and just by removing this director than she had done in quite some time in a job that hated and distrusted her. Perhaps they had been right not to trust her. Perhaps that had smelled new thoughts and creativity on her after her visit with the good doctor and it had scared those in their tiny well ordered boxes with their directives and thoughts sent to them on crisp white paper that had been copied in duplicate and checked twice to make sure of uniformity. Yes, in the years since those early interviews she had changed. She had begun to think for herself and in that she had begun to leave the teachings of the Agency behind her but still there remained the part of her that wished for justice to prevail that sought the truth and she realized they had not taught her that in her classes. That was something she had inherited from her parents that they could not take from her and that if she continued to live her life by these dictates and not those of the FBI perhaps she would be fulfilling their wishes more than she had in all her years serving bureaucrats.

The thought made her smile again and just as that blanket of happiness settled upon her the door to the kitchen opened again and Lecter entered carrying to cover laden plates. Setting the first in front of her he made no move to uncover the dish but rather moved on to his own place and took a seat. 'One last chance my dear. One last moment to back out and go back to the way things were.' With that he sat back and resumed his position of waiting. Clarice looked up into his pale blue eyes and without hesitation took the cover off the dish. Looking down her expression didn't even change as she came face to face with a stuffed liver and what looked to be some sort of bean on the side. Picking up her fork she began to laugh. 'I thought you said this was best served with a nice Chianti doctor.' She said lifting an eyebrow at him. His eyes began to sparkle as he realized that she had remembered that inane comment he had made so long ago. 'I thought perhaps it would be more appropriate to have a light wine this time since I believe this particular specimen has been well basted by far stronger spirits before I cam by it. We wouldn't want this night ruined by too much of a good thing now would we?' Clarice only smiled as she took the first bite.


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

Some Time Later

Clarice woke to a bright ray of sun coming through the thin billowy curtains. It looked like today was going to be just as beautiful as the last. She could feel a warm breeze coming in from under the curtains where she had opened the window the night before. Yes, it would be a good day even if she did have to tie up a few loose ends before she could truly enjoy it. There was the serial killer that had made the mistake of coming onto the scene at the worst possible time and place…for himself. She smiled as she felt a muscular arm tighten around her waist and she turned over to snuggle in for a few more moments of sleep before the world intruded once more. Her companion turned over to prop himself up on his elbow to look down at her. Her hair was mussed and lay around her and over the arm that held her securely. Her eyes her luminous and she stretched slightly before trying to hide a yawn in his shoulder. 'Good morning Doctor Lecter.'

He leaned down and kissed her possessively before pulling back just enough so that when he spoke the heat of his breath ran over the delicate skin of her neck and made her want to shiver.

'Good morning Mrs. Lecter.'

((So, did you like it? I realize the ending was kind of cheesy but I came up with the basis for this story after I came up with the title the morning after. I wondered what it would be like if she woke up and he was there and I thought this would be the best way for it to end. Please let me know what you think. I may lengthen the epilogue into a bit more of a full scene if people feel it would make it better or just really want it. Please review. It makes my little world a little brighter. Sincerely, Aurian Lladnek.))


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